


Drag Me Anywhere but Hell

by thenerdyindividual



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Antichrist, Antichrist Arthur Pendragon, BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Banter, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Declarations Of Love, M/M, Merlin to the rescue, Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Protective Merlin (Merlin), Saving the World
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27443329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenerdyindividual/pseuds/thenerdyindividual
Summary: Arthur is reincarnated, but he doesn't know it, and a seriously dark alternate destiny is plaguing him wherever he goes. Merlin shows up at the last minute, and Arthur remembers all. Their reunion isn't enough, and those same dark forces try to break them apart. It's up to Merlin to save Arthur one last time.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 82





	Drag Me Anywhere but Hell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PlantBoy_Elliott](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlantBoy_Elliott/gifts).



> 1\. I am dedicating this to plantboy-Elliott because he told me to write this. You only have him to blame.  
> 2\. I picture Merlin looking like Leo Elster in Season 3 of [Humans](https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&url=https%3A%2F%2Fhumans-on-amc.fandom.com%2Fwiki%2FLeo_Elster&psig=AOvVaw1nQhr0sRTxIw7MYZDDaNJi&ust=1604883288835000&source=images&cd=vfe&ved=0CAIQjRxqFwoTCIjku6ne8ewCFQAAAAAdAAAAABAD)  
> 3\. I watched Damien, and based this on that. but you don't need to have seen it to read this.  
> 4\. I have not set foot in a church since 2014 so don't @ me for the religious inaccuracies

He feels like he’s drowning, or maybe suffocating. The walls are closing in around him and he can’t seem to make them stop. He doesn’t want anyone else to get hurt, not because of him. He wants no part in his role in all of this, he just wants it all to stop. 

He drags a shaking hand through his hair, eyes focused on the grey rain slicked concrete below him. It’s hard to breathe through the fear. It may seem like he has it together, but that could not be further from the truth. Any moment now, he’s going to reach the breaking point and he’s terrified of what will happen next. 

Something solid bounces off his left shoulder, forcing him to stagger sideways to stay upright. A fine boned hand darts out, catches him by his elbow, rights him once more, and then releases. Disoriented, he looks up and finds a young man already continuing on down the pavement. 

The young man glances back over his shoulder, offering an apologetic smile, and says, “Sorry about that, mate.”

“No harm done.” Arthur responds, tucks his hands in the pockets of his coat, and hunches his shoulder against the chill. 

The young man’s eyes widen suddenly, lighting with recognition, and his face creases into the widest, goofiest grin Arthur has ever seen. It drops like a lead weight in his stomach. The words of all the people before come rushing back; _this is all for you, Arthur, all for you_. Maybe he’s just going to prolong the inevitable, but he can’t bear another person hurting themselves in his name. He can’t let this innocent young man do something mad like fling himself into oncoming traffic. 

Arthur reacts before he fully realizes what he’s doing. In the blink of an eye, he has the young man pinned up against the brick wall of the building next to them. The young man’s arm is pinned to his chest, and Arthur braces himself for the frantic _all for you, all for you_. It never comes. 

Instead the young man lets out a noise somewhere between a delighted laugh and an indignant grunt, and says, “Ow! Why have both of our first meetings involved you manhandling me, you turnip head?”

It catches Arthur off guard, and he eases up on the pressure on the young man’s arm, “What?”

“Seriously, fifteen hundred years and you’re still such a prat.” The young man continues as though he’s unaware of Arthur’s confusion. He still has that goofy grin on his face, and about a million emotions filtering through the blue of his eyes; hope, joy, relief. 

His hair is dark and curly. All of him is lithe, not just his hands. He wears joggers tucked into hiking boots, an old jumper, and a canvas jacket that’s at least a size too big. Arthur would remember if he ever met someone like this young man before, and he hasn’t. Although, he’d sworn he’d never met the old woman in Damascus either and look at all the trouble she’s caused by knowing him. 

“You’re not freaking out.” Arthur says, and it comes across a little accusing. Perhaps it is. He hasn’t had anyone react normally to him in at least a month. 

“Why would I be freaking out?” The young man asks with an amused frown, “I missed you. I’ve been waiting.”

The rage that fills Arthur’s chest burns so bright and hot, he thinks he might tear this young man limb from limb. Of course it was too much of a coincidence to bump into someone apparently unaffected by Arthur’s new found weirdness. He’s so sick of the lies and manipulations that he wants to scream. 

He crowds against the young man again, pressing him painfully back against the brick, “Who sent you?”

“Sent me? Arthur, what are you talking about? It’s me, Merlin.” The young man, Merlin, says. 

“I don’t know anyone by that name. Tell the powers that be that it was a valiant attempt, but they’ll have to find a much better actor than you.” Arthur growls. 

Disappointment floods Merlin’s face. No, not disappointment, that isn’t a strong enough word. The look on Merlin’s face is nothing short of devastation. Then, as quickly as it broke, Merlin put it away. It’s like watching someone close the door to a brightly lit room. 

“You’re not him, are you?” Merlin asks, voice heavy. 

“Not who?” Arthur demands. 

Merlin shakes his head, shrugs, looks anywhere but at Arthur, “I had a friend who looked a lot like you. I thought maybe you were him.”

“You called me by name.” 

“Lots of blokes in London called Arthur. At least a few of them have to be blonde and handsome.”

Arthur will give Merlin this, he’s evasive. He has explanations dripping from his tongue, and an ability to shuffle onto the next subject without missing a beat. Arthur would have fallen for it before the infamous trip to Damascus, but not now. Now he can see the shine of the lie in the air. 

“You said fifteen hundred years.”

“Figure of speech.”

“Stop. Lying.”

Merlin’s eyes flick back to him then, and he raises his eyebrows, “If I tell you the truth, you’ll think I’m mad. Now will you please let me go so I can continue on with this absolute shit day?”

There’s something strangely familiar about the tone. He’s been getting flashes of memory, mostly of his childhood and the awful incident with his nanny. Buried under all that though, are flashes that could not possibly belong to him. There’s red cloth streaming out behind him, a proper castle not a ruin or a museum, and forests so green it puts the English country to shame. Merlin’s attitude adds to these glimpses. He remembers laughter, swords, loving insults. He tightens his hand on Merlin’s arm. 

“A lot of weird things have been happening to me lately, and you seem to be the only one inclined to answer any of my questions. You’re coming with me.” He pulls Merlin away from the wall, and starts the half block march back to his flat. 

Merlin mutters something about being manhandled, but otherwise does not protest. 

He hauls Merlin up the industrial metal staircase behind him, then maneuvers him so he’s walking upfront and can’t give Arthur the slip when he unlocks his door. He wants answers, and he’s going to get them. If it turns out Merlin is actually working for the group intent on destroying Arthur’s life, then they’ll just have to cross that bridge when they get to it, but there’s something that tells Arthur Merlin is different. Of course the little emotional display downstairs could have been intended to manipulate him, Merlin could be a very talented actor. Still, answers are answers. 

They come to a stop outside Arthur’s door, the heavy red metal gleaming dully in the half burned out neon light responsible for illuminating the concrete hall. Merlin sends him a questioning look, and Arthur presses they key to his flat into Merlin’s palm. He jerks his chin roughly at the door.

“Unlock it. I’m not letting you go anywhere until I get the answers I’m looking for.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, and turns to slide the key into the lock, “You do realize this is technically kidnapping? Just because I can leave anytime I want doesn’t mean you’re legally allowed to take me anywhere without my consent.”

“What do you mean you can leave at any time?”

The key clicks in the lock, and Merlin sends him a little smile over his shoulder, half smug, half sad, “All goes well, you might get the answer to that too.”

Merlin pushes the door open, and Arthur crowds them both inside before kicking the door closed behind him. He flips the lock, so that Merlin will be delayed by at least a second if he tries to do a runner, and finally lets go of Merlin’s arm. 

Merlin runs absently at the spot where Arthur’s fingers dug in, and wanders around the flat. He takes in Arthur’s light table, photographs strewn across the surface from where he’d been trying to piece all the information he had into a framework that made sense, he admires the photographs Arthur has actually hung on the wall, and spends a good deal of time just gazing at the one that earned him an award. 

He finally turns back to Arthur, and he seems almost proud, “You’re a war photographer.”

“Someone needs to stop everyone thinking war is glamorous.” Arthur says darkly, “Now sit down.”

Merlin does not sit down, instead he wanders into the kitchenette, and opens Arthur’s fridge, “Do you have beer? I feel like we might need beer for this.”

Arthur sighs, feeling his irritation grow another couple of sizes. The irritation feels better than the suffocating terror he’s been living with since that old woman grabbed him in Damascus. The irritation also feels familiar in a way, like he’s spent plenty of time being irritated by Merlin in the past. It feels as natural as breathing. 

He crosses into the kitchenette as well, grabs two bottles of beer out of his fridge, and presses one roughly into Merlin’s chest. 

“Go sit on the sofa before I drag you.”

“You always were incredibly bossy.” Merlin says, but obligingly crosses to sit down on the worn black sofa in the middle of the room. 

Arthur follows him, and settles into the chair opposite. The coffee table sits between them, acting more like an interrogation table than anything related to comfort or convenience. 

Arthur leans forward, sets his beer on the table, and rests his elbows on his knees, “Why do talk like you know me?”

“Because I do.” Merlin answers, then his mouth twists a little to the side as though he’s rethinking his answer, “Or I think I do, anyway. It’s all very complicated.”

“Make it uncomplicated.”

“I already told you that if I tried to explain you would think I was mad.”

Arthur scrubs a hand over his face, and levels Merlin with a glare, “What do I have to tell you to make you explain?”

“You said weird things have been happening lately?”

“Yes.”

“So tell me about that. It’ll help me understand just how strange my answer can be.” Merlin answers, and takes a sip of his beer. 

“Is that what this is about?” Arthur snaps, “What they sent you to make me admit it out loud?”

Merlin’s forehead creases with confusion, “No one sent me. Admit what out loud?”

“Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you, Merlin, if that is your real name.”

“It is, and I’m not playing. I really have no idea what you’re talking about.” Merlin insists and actually reaches across the table to rest his hand on Arthur’s knee, “Are you okay? Is someone trying to hurt you?”

“Why do you care?” Arthur snaps, but doesn’t pull away. Merlin’s touch is familiar too. He remembers light fingers on shirt lacings, and drinks in front of a fire place. 

“It’s part of the answer that’s going to make me sound mad.” Merlin peers up at him, concern rolling off him in waves, “What’s going on, Arthur? You know you can tell me.”

Somehow, Arthur does know. There’s no one in the world more trustworthy than Merlin. How he knows this, he can’t say, but he does. 

“I’m the antichrist.” he blurts out. 

He expects Merlin to laugh, or maybe pull away. He expects to see fear, not because Merlin believes him, but because he’s been trapped in a live-work space with a man who genuinely believes he is the destroyer of all things. 

Merlin doesn’t do either of those things, he just scrunches up his face in confusion, and asks, “You’re serious?”

It’s a relief to have someone believe him, or at least not go running to find a mental health professional to put him away. Arthur angles his head, reaches up, and parts his hair to show Merlin the mark; a perfect 666 forming a triangle. 

Merlin sucks in some air, and when Arthur looks at him again there’s still no fear. Merlin has his lips pressed together, and his head tilted. He looks exasperated. 

“You couldn’t have chosen something a bit easier?”

“I’m sorry?” Arthur asks. 

“We’ll get to that. How long have you been the antichrist then?”

“Since birth, I suppose, but I only found out about a month ago. I was on a job in Damascus. Everything went to hell, and I dove in to help up this old woman, but she grabbed me and chanted something in Latin. Next thing I know, a cult comes pouring out of nowhere, trying to convince me to accept my role. People start dying all around me, or worse killing themselves because of me; _for_ me. 

“That’s why I pinned you downstairs. You had this look in your eye, I thought you were…”

“You thought I was going to do something daft like go play in traffic.”

Arthur nods, and digs his hands into his hair, “I can’t stop it. I try, but I can’t. I hate it. I want no part in destiny or fate.”

Merlin shifts uncomfortably on the sofa, and Arthur stares at him searchingly. Merlin believes him, and that alone is enough to make the suffocating pressure ease a bit. Sharing the weight of his burden and all that. 

“You believe me.” Arthur breathes. 

Merlin grimaces, “I do, but you’re really not going to like what I have to say if you want no part in destiny.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m Merlin.”

“Yes. You introduced yourself outside.”

“No I mean… I’m not named after Merlin the wizard from Arthurian legend, I _am_ Merlin from Arthurian legend.”

Arthur groans loudly and sinks lower in his seat, “Great. You’re a nutter.”

“Hey! I didn’t call you a nutter about the whole antichrist thing even though I’m the one that’s going to have to deal with it.”

Leaving the last part of the comment be for the moment, Arthur gestures in the air with his hand, “Go on then. If you’re _the_ Merlin, then show me some magic.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, cups his hand in front of his mouth, and whispers something in a language Arthur has never heard. His eyes flash a brilliant luminescent gold, and Arthur nearly falls out of his chair in his surprise. Merlin opens his hands, and a bright blue butterfly flutters free. It makes a round of Arthur’s flat before coming to rest on Arthur’s hand. It vanishes in a small twinkle of golden light that matches Merlin’s eyes. 

“And I’m capable of much more than that,” Merlin insists, “but I don’t really fancy tearing your building down to prove a point.”

Arthur stares at him open mouthed, and stammers out, “Merlin should have died what? Over a thousand years ago?”

“I’m immortal. Or as close to immortal as you can get.”

“You’re meant to be an old man.”

“Technically I am.” Merlin points out, “I am one thousand, five hundred, and twenty-eight years old. But, no. The legends got it wrong. I wasn’t old in Arthur’s time. I was only a few years younger than Arthur himself. He was… well he was everything to me.”

Arthur gets some of those flashes again; a glinting sword, someone always at his side, the weight of a crown on his head. He’s never worn a crown. He’s never handled a sword. These memories cannot be his, and yet…

“You thought I was him. You thought I was _your_ Arthur.”

Merlin’s mouth quirks up in a sad little grin, “I still do, actually. My magic recognized you, not me. Your hair isn’t quite the same color, but I think it’s safe to say you’re not spending hours on a trading field any longer, and you have scruff now which suits you, but I swear you’re him. You’re practically the spitting image of yourself when you left me. 

“My destiny has always been to be at the side of King Arthur, even if that meant waiting fifteen hundred years for the Sidhe to send him back to me. Arthur is the Once and Future King. The future is now, you are King Arthur. You’ve even got his name.”

More flashes this time. An earnest voice that sounds a lot like Merlin’s. It offers encouragement in times of doubt, insults when his ego gets too big, advice when he needs counsel. 

“So now you’re adding saving England to my list of duties? How am I meant to do that if I’m meant to bring about the end of the world?”

Merlin sits forward, takes Arthur’s hands in his, and squeezes like he’s trying to impart just how serious he’s about to be, “I failed you at Camlann. I won’t fail you here. If you let me, I’ll be by your side like I always am, keeping you safe. I will make sure no other innocent people get hurt, and we’ll sort this whole antichrist business together.”

God help him, but Arthur believes him. He squeezes Merlin’s hands back. 

“Do you really know how to stop this?”

“No, but that’s never stopped me from saving you before.”

A flash. Merlin once more asking ‘couldn’t you have picked something a bit easier’. Himself riding out. A stone wall between them. A golden trident. 

“I don’t think I’m him.” Arthur admits, “Not yet, not fully.”

Merlin shrugs one shoulder, “Even if I’m wrong and you’re not him, or you can only remember bits and pieces, it’s been a long time since I had something to believe in. I believe in stopping what’s happening to you.”

Arthur sways forward in his chair, head nearly coming to rest on Merlin’s chest with how close they’ve shifted over the course of this conversation. Only the coffee table really stands between them. Merlin frees one of his hands, and rests it comfortingly on the back of Arthur’s neck. 

“You’ll stay?” He asks, blinking back tears. 

Merlin not only believes him, but is going to help. He doesn’t think Arthur is inherently evil for something out of his control, doesn’t think the only way to stop Arthur is killing him. He has someone on his side, finally. 

“Course I will. Sofa looks comfy enough.”

Arthur lets out a weak laugh, “Thank you, not just for staying, but for not… for thinking I’m still good.”

“I know what it’s like to have a power that seems to have a mind of its own.” Merlin says softly, “What it’s like to have it tied to your life force so tightly that it takes matters into its own hands. The only difference, it sounds like, between my magic and your… demonic powers or whatever, is that mine kept me alive when I got into trouble, and yours is intent on keeping you out of trouble altogether.”

“What about the people who weren’t a threat, but hurt themselves anyway?” Arthur asks, eyes flickering up to Merlin in a desperate plea for answers. 

“Honestly, there’s no guarantee that it’s even you doing it. I was manipulated by a dragon from the moment I arrived in Camelot, there’s nothing to say that some assholes in a hell dimension aren’t pulling the same stunt.”

“A hell dimension?”

“There’s at least ten of them. Same with the heavenly dimensions. Christian God isn’t the only deity knocking about, although he does seem to be the only one with big enough balls to try to end the world to bring back his son.”

Arthur stares at him, once more wrong footed. How Merlin can speak of these things, it’s madness. Arthur may not be very inclined to put his faith in Christianity, but an entire pantheon of gods? That’s a lot to take in. Merlin must realize this because he smiles, crinkling the skin around his eyes, and squeezes the back of Arthur’s neck again. It helps Arthur feel grounded. 

“Don’t worry about that now. It’s getting late. Let’s get some rest, and we’ll tackle this in the morning.”

It’s a logical suggestion, so Arthur staggers to his feet. He unearths his spare sheets from the wardrobe in his bedroom upstairs, and helps Merlin make up the sofa for the night. Merlin is fluffing up the pillow, when he lets out a little snort. Arthur doesn’t want to be paranoid, not about someone here to actually help, but the noise still sets him on edge. 

“What’s so funny?”

Merlin looks up at him, and squints like he’s trying to find the right words. That, like everything about Merlin, is familiar too. 

“Not funny as in comedic, but funny as in ironic?” Merlin says haltingly, “or… coincidental. Anyway. I’m just thinking about the points of overlap between the Arthurian Destiny and the Antichrist. A king rising in a time of great need or change. One who unites the world. Although, obviously, the Arthurian Destiny is unity in peace, and not the end of the world.”

“You look so cheery, but you are extremely dark.”

“I’m literally older than some of the ruins children visit on school trips. That’s bound to make you a bit strange in the head.”

“As if you were ever right in it.” Arthur teases. 

Merlin’s answering grin is brighter than the sun. 

Arthur goes to fetch a blanket, and when he returns, Merlin’s boots are tucked neatly under the edge of the coffee table. His jacket has been discarded over the back of the chair, and Merlin himself is just wrangling the jumper over his head, exposing the long pale lines of his arms. He deposits the jumper with his jacket. 

It comes to Arthur in another flash.

“I used to love looking at your arms. You were always so covered up, and it felt special getting to see that much skin. I would assign you extra chores involving washing, just so I could see you with your sleeves rolled up.”

Merlin looks like he might get a bit weepy at that, “I never knew. You were with Gwen… I didn’t think you looked twice at me.”

Arthur frowns a bit. It’s all more than a bit hazy, but he has the impression that what he’s a mug to say is truthful. Or as truthful as he can be when he doesn’t have all his memories to rely on. 

“I think I loved you both, but she was safer to be with. Her heart was always partly with someone else, as was mine, and we both knew it and chose to love each other anyway.”

“My heart was always yours.” Merlin says, and it sounds almost like a wedding vow. 

Arthur leaves Merlin downstairs, and climbs the metal staircase to his room. For once, he thinks he might be able to get some rest. He knows, somehow, that with Merlin downstairs he has never been safer in his life. So he collapsed into bed, and he dreams. 

He dreams it all. A dagger thrown at him, and Merlin pulling him out of its path at the last second. A bite by a vicious beast that he doesn’t think he’ll survive, but does, and the ensuing conversation that fills him with dread when it becomes clear Merlin doesn’t think he’ll return. He remembers fighting side by side with Merlin in a tiny village. He remembers Uther and the troll. There’s a dragon fight. There are knights, paths sworn around a round table. Betrayals from people he holds most dear. 

He remembers the pain of a cursed blade sliding into his chest. He remembers the desperate trek to the Lake of Avalon, and Merlin revealing his magic. The pain of that betrayal cuts deeper than the knife, and the forgiveness is more cleansing than any spell. He remembers Merlin’s sobbing, and himself begging Merlin to hold him. He remembers Merlin being the first to say, “It was all for you, Arthur.”

Arthur jerks awake, sweaty and panicked. His clothes cling to him in strange ways, and his heart beats so heavily in his chest he can’t catch a breath. He remembers it all. 

He tumbles out of bed, and nearly goes sliding down the metal stairs in his rush to get to Merlin. He finds him standing in the kitchen, prodding at some bacon in a pan. He looks up when Arthur reaches the last step, and smiles warmly. 

“Hungry?”

“Merlin…” Arthur starts, but he can’t decide what else to say. He doesn’t have to. Merlin just knows. 

“Arthur?” he asks, voice trembling, “Is that you?”

Arthur nods, and suddenly Merlin flings himself across the room and into Arthur’s arms. Arthur pulls him in as tight as he can without hurting him, face buried in Merlin’s curls. They’d hugged so rarely back then, mostly because Arthur was afraid if he started he would never be able to stop. There’s no reason to stop here, now. So he holds on, let’s Merlin cry into his shoulder. 

“Don’t be such a girl, Merlin.” Arthur grumbles, but he’s crying too. 

Merlin laughs weakly, and mumbles something that sounds like “Prat” against Arthur’s chest. 

Merlin’s words from their last few days together, tickle at his brain and make his blood run cold. He pulls back just far enough to get a look at Merlin’s face, still a bit damp from crying. 

“You were the first.”

“The first what?” Merlin asks, and wipes at his eyes with the heel of his hand. 

“The first to give up everything in my name.” Arthur says, “You even phrased it the same way those people do before they… Merlin, you can’t do that again. Promise me you won’t give up a life for me again.”

“I didn’t give anything up, Arthur.” Merlin insists, thumbing at Arthur’s cheekbone, “You gave me something to believe in, and without it I wouldn’t have met Lancelot, or Gwaine, or Gwen. I didn’t give up a life, our lives just got tangled together. But that’s what happens when you love someone.”

“I… please, Merlin. I don’t want you to be like the others, don’t…”

“My magic, my love, and my days were yours. Not because of some weird demonic compulsion, but because you gave that same friendship and devotion back to me.” Merlin says calmly, “But I don’t think it’s coincidence that the phrasing is so close. Whatever is going on, whoever is pulling the strings, must have counted on me finding you again. They knew you’d get noble and try to send me away if they made it sound like I gave up my life for yours, and it would isolate you more. So don’t let them. We are two sides of the same coin, and I’ll be damned if I let them make you into something dark.”

Arthur opens his mouth to thank Merlin again, but what come out is, “The bacon is burning.”

“What?”

“The bacon.” Arthur repeats, and rushes passed Merlin to take the bacon off the burner. It’s blackened almost all the way to the center, and Arthur waves a dish rag over the pan, trying to fan away the smoke before it sets off the alarm.

Merlin offers him a sheepish smile and says, “Sorry.”

“I see you’re still the worst manservant to have ever existed.” Arthur says dryly as he opens a window.

“Hey, my cooking was the one thing you actually liked. Don’t think I forgot about how you and the lads used to hog all the stew.”

“We saved you a bowl.”

“And took two each!”

Arthur looks over his shoulder at Merlin, and grins. How he ever managed to forget Merlin is beyond him. He was always the one person that Arthur could trust, the one who loved him most, the one who always there even when Arthur was being insufferable. Merlin’s smile is warm, and relieved, and its brightness chases away some of the darkness lingering in his chest. 

Overwhelmed with affection, Arthur crosses the room, and presses a kiss to Merlin’s forehead, even though he has to lean up a bit to do it. Merlin was always taller than him, much to his annoyance. 

“Come on,” Arthur murmurs, “get your coat and boots, I’ll take you to breakfast.”

“I thought you couldn’t be seen buying things for me.” Merlin teases.

“I couldn’t be seen buying things for my manservant. You’re not my manservant any longer, just a man very important to me.”

Merlin leans away, looking down at Arthur with an amused half smile and squinted eyes, then he nods and says, “Alright.”

Arthur ruffles Merlin’s hair because he remembers how much it used to annoy Merlin, and climbs back up the stairs to his room. He forgets all about the last month, the death, the destruction, the pain, and he danger of going outside. All Arthur can thinks about is spending time with his best friend, a man he didn’t even know he was missing until he came back. 

His hope is promptly dashed when there’s a knock at his door. There’s only been one person coming over lately, and she only brings trouble. Arthur wipes sweaty palms on his sweats, and strides out of his room, exuding more confidence than he feels. Merlin is standing in the middle of the room, holding one of his boots. He raises his eyebrows at Arthur in question, and Arthur shakes his head, and jerks his chin towards the stairs leading up to his room.

Merlin frowns, obviously understanding that Arthur sense danger in this moment, and shakes his head. He points at Arthur, then at the stairs to the loft. Then he points to himself, and points at the door. Merlin was never any good at hand signals back in Camelot, but he learned them at some point. Or perhaps they just know each other so well that they can communicate silently. Arthur shakes his head, moving to step to the door, and Merlin steps in front of him, jaw set, and points at the stairs once again.

Arthur gears up to continue their silent argument, but another knock sounds on the door, and Merlin stubbornly points at the stairs again. Arthur raises his hands in surrender, and creeps up the stairs to his bedroom. Once he’s out of sight, he hears the creak of the front door as it opens.

It’s followed by Merlin’s cheerful voice asking, “Sorry, can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Arthur.” she says, and Arthur can hear the click of her heels as she tries to step passed Merlin.

Merlin, bless him, must hold his ground, because Arthur can hear an annoyed huff from her when Merlin says, “Sorry. He’s not in just now. I can tell him you stopped by.”

“Who are you? I practically raised Arthur, but you’ve never been in his life before.”

“An old acquaintance from his Uni days.” Merlin replies smoothly, “I can’t let you in, so you may as well give me your name and I’ll let him know you came round.”

Arthur has only ever heard this tone of command in Merlin’s voice once before, but it sounds like Merlin is used to it. He has to wonder how much of himself Merlin hid away in Camelot in order to make sure Arthur felt love and support. If they make it through this, Arthur is going to do everything in his power to make sure Merlin knows how appreciated he is.

“I will come back. I know where he lives.”

Something dark and thick uncurls in Arthur’s chest. She’s threatening Merlin, she can’t be let to do something like this, not to anyone, but especially not to Merlin. It would be so easy, he could free the world from her influence. All he has to do...

“Good for you. Name?” Merlin demands, and it cuts through the blackness. He’s faced scarier in just his time in Camelot, a woman intent on dragging all of Arthur’s humanity from him is hardly going to make him break a sweat.

“Anne. Tell him Anne came to talk.” her voice is tight with irritation.

“Will do, Anne. Get out.” 

The door creaks shut, and Arthur hears the turn of the lock. He emerges from his room, and comes to sit on the bottom of the stairs. Merlin turns to him, shoulders back, eyes flinty with anger. It’s one of the most attractive things Arthur has ever seen.

“I take it she’s the one who’s been messing with you.”

“Primarily, but I know she has others working with her.”

“Right.” Merlin says with a decisive nod, and jogs up the stairs passed Arthur.

“Where are you going?” Arthur asks, turning to watch Merlin go.

Merlin leans around the doorway so Arthur can see his face, “We’re getting you out of here.”

Arthur raises his eyebrows, “What do you mean we’re getting out of here?”

“I know it’s been a while since you were a king, Arthur, but it should be pretty obvious that if your enemy knows where you are, you should leave.” Merlin says, and disappears back into the bedroom, “I’m packing you a bag. Where’s your stuff?”

Arthur sighs, and tromps back up the stairs to his bedroom. Within ten minutes, he has a bag packed with as many clothes as he can manage, and his camera. His phone and laptop stay behind because Merlin insists they not bring anything with location services; too easy to hack. With the hallway clear of all Antichrist Cult Weirdos, they make a break for Arthur’s jeep. Merlin ends up in the driver’s seat, and Arthur doesn’t have it in him to argue. 

They swing by Merlin’s flat (“You have a flat?” “I’m fifteen hundred years old, not a ghost.”) and gather a bag for him as well. The inside of Merlin’s flat is exactly how Arthur pictured it would be; small, over stuffed with books, empty mugs stacked on every available surface. He slides several books into his bag along with clothes, and pauses to get one out of his safe. It’s different to the others, older, more worn, hand bound.

“That’s your magic book isn’t it?” Arthur asks, “The one you had in Camelot.”

Merlin nods, and tucks it carefully into the laptop pocket in his backpack, “I’ve poured a lot of spells into it to keep it in good condition. It’s the only one left. A bit like me in that respect.”

“What do you mean?”

“Magic is almost gone.” Merlin says sadly, “I’m the only sorcerer still around. Come on. Let’s go.”

“I am technically the King of Camelot, so I should be the one giving orders.” Arthur jokes. 

Merlin grins at him once more, and leads the way to the hallway, “Right now the only thing you’re king of is being an ass.”

“You still think I’m an ass?” Arthur asks as he follows Merlin down to the waiting Jeep. 

“You did spend a good minute arguing with me about who should drive your car.”

“Sorry, I expected you to be just as clumsy as I remembered.”

Merlin doesn’t respond to that. He just tosses his bag into the backseat alongside Arthur’s, then slides into the driver’s seat. Arthur hops into the passenger side, and buckles his seatbelt while Merlin backs out of the parking space, ignoring an old woman who stands to the side and glares at them. 

Arthur shifts nervously in his seat, and drums his fingers against his knee, “Do we need to worry about her?”

Merlin’s eyes briefly flick over to the old woman in her purple housecoat, and he smiles to himself, “No, we don’t have to worry about her. Mrs. Franklin just hates me because I set off the fire alarms once just after moving in.”

Arthur takes a deep breath, and forces himself to relax, “So not much has changed there then.”

“You’re being very rude to the person who’s preventing you from ending the world.”

Arthur leans over, and punches Merlin lightly on the arm, “You and I are never honest with each other unless one of our lives hang in the balance.”

Merlin checks the rear view mirror, and switches lanes smoothly before responding, “A lot of lives hang in the balance now, not just ours. Besides, I had a lot of time to think and maybe if I had been more honest from the start…”

“No.” Arthur says firmly, “Don’t do that to yourself. You were in an impossible situation, and you did the best you could. I’m sorry you had to spend all that time alone, but I’m here now and once this is all over we can start building our life.”

“Our life?” Merlin asks, and Arthur is amazed at how uncertain Merlin can sound. After all of this, how can Merlin be anything but aware of Arthur’s feelings? 

“I loved you then,” Arthur admits for the first time since regaining his time in Camelot, “and I think I could love you now. There’s just this small matter of saving the world.”

Merlin grins to himself and eases onto the motorway, “If we save the world, then you owe me breakfast.”

“Consider it a date. Now, are you going to tell me where the hell we’re going?”

“Sheffield.”

“What’s in Sheffield?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why are going to Sheffield?”

“I don’t know! I’m just doing what they do in action movies when they’re hoping to shake someone tailing them.” Merlin says indignantly, and the car speed up a few notches on the speedometer. 

Arthur holds his hands up in surrender, and sinks back in his seat, “Alright. I’ll stop questioning your master plan. Just please tell me that there’s a plan after Sheffield.”

“No, you prat, I was going to wing it from there.”

“Were you always this snarky?”

“Yes, you just didn’t take the brunt of it because I had to keep saving your neck and I didn’t want you to send me away.”

The drive to Sheffield is quiet after that, Arthur contents himself with staring out of the window, watching the verdant his and fields roll by outside. Merlin keeps shooting him looks out of the corner of his eye, like he can’t believe Arthur is there, and every time he does, Arthur smiles at him. Fifteen hundred years is a long time to be alone, and if Arthur has his way then Merlin will never have to be alone again.

There’s also something about Merlin’s presence that alleviates he dark heat under Arthur’s skin. It isn’t just that he’s glad to have his old friend back by his side, fighting with him for all that is good, although that might be part of it. There’s a physical change that Arthur can feel, like the bright gold of Merlin’s magic has seeped into him and is illuminating all the parts that darkness has touched, making it harder for that anger to take root. It feels like the sun coming over the horizon at dawn to chase away the night.

Arthur is just starting to drift off, when Merlin hisses, “Shit.”

“What’s happening?” Arthur asks, sitting bolt upright, “How far are we from Sheffield?”

“Maybe ten minutes,” Merlin answers, “but I was right. They are following us. Why couldn’t you have picked a boring car like a Toyota Camry?”

“Is that really what you want to discuss at the moment?”

Merlin turns his head and glares at Arthur with an exasperated sigh. Then he fixes his gaze back on the road, and changes lanes abruptly. It makes the car behind them honk at them, but Arthur knows better than to remind Merlin to drive safely. Merlin may not let him become the antichrist, but he isn’t above strangling Arthur with his own two hands.

Merlin takes the nearest exit at a speed that is definitely greater than is safe, and Arthur sees them; the hulking black cars following in their wake. They look more suited to transporting celebrities and politicians, or leading a CO19 operation than driving innocuously down an English motorway. Merlin guides the Jeep off the motorway, and takes a road at random. It leads them onto a service road with no houses in sight.

Arthur can sense it before it happens. This decision will cost them. He throws his hand out across Merlin’s chest, just as one of the following vehicles steps on the gas and rear ends them as hard as possible. Arthur is thrown forward against his seatbelt, but thankfully neither he nor Merlin hit their heads on anything. It gives them a chance to fight their way out of this.

Arthur isn’t sure what instinct takes over then –Arthur the War Photographer, or Arthur Pendragon King of Camelot—but he moves. He unbuckles his seatbelt, and Merlin’s, pushes open the door and drags Merlin out after him. Merlin moves without complaint, and this is as familiar as arguing with him. Arthur lost track over the years of the number of times he hauled Merlin behind him to keep from bandits getting at him. Today is no different.

Actually there is one major difference between being surrounded by medieval bandits, and being surrounded by a contemporary personal army. Guns. Lots of guns. Lots of huge guns all pointed right at their heads. There’s no way for Arthur to outmaneuver a gun physically, but he’s had enough of hem pointed at his head in his choice of career this life, that he know it’s possible to talk your way out of getting shot.

So he straightens to his full height, tightens his grip on Merlin so he can’t move, and shouts, “Let me talk to Anne. I know she’s here. She wouldn’t miss the opportunity to bring me in.”

One of the backdoors of the car furthest back, opens, and Anne steps out. Arthur shouldn’t fear her, she barely comes up to his chin, even in heels, and she’s maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet. Yet the sight of her shark grin, dark lipstick, and perfectly coiffed hair never fails to fill him with dread. She walks over, heels crunching in the gravel, and comes to a stop behind one of the men with guns.

“It’s time to stop rebelling, Arthur. Let us bring you home.” She says, probably trying to sound imploring but coming out more ominous.

“I don’t want any part of your plans.” Arthur announces.

Anne inclines her head like she’s actually listening, “You don’t have a choice. None of us can control our fate.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”

“And you won’t have to, not if you accept your role. People will bow at your feet, pledge themselves to you.”

“Do you promise?” Arthur demands, “I want you to swear that if I go with you, no one else will get hurt.”

Behind him, Merlin groans, and hisses, “What the hell are you doing?”

“Trying to end this.” Arthur hisses back, as Anne takes a step closer, smiles in a somewhat motherly fashion, and says, “You won’t have to do anything you don’t want to once you accept.”

“Fine.” Arthur agrees, and steps forward.

Merlin makes an indignant noise, and tries to grab Arthur’s wrist, but Arthur shakes him off. He won’t let Merlin get hurt, not anymore. The darkness begins to ooze its way back into his chest, feeling heavy and wrong after Merlin’s influence. 

“Kill the boy.” Anne says carelessly, waving her hand at Merlin.

The darkness pulses in Arthur’s chest, anger boils in his veins. The guns come up, trained on Merlin, prepared to end his life like he’s no better than an animal. The power pulses out of Arthur in waves, and he steps deliberately in front of Merlin once more, jaw clenched.

Anne’s eyes widen, and Arthur is viscerally glad. Let her be afraid. She should fear him. Everyone should fear him. He has unimaginable power at his fingertips.

“Step away from him, Arthur.” Anne calls, but Arthur doesn’t move. He won’t, even if they do drop their guns. They aren’t to be trusted.

“Step away!” Anne calls again.

Arthur can feel his power sliding into their brains, changing their thoughts. Slowly, the guns shift in their hands, and point at each other. It’s the work of a thought to make them pull the triggers, kill the people who would kill the man he loves.

Merlin’s hand comes to rest on his arm, and he steps in front of Arthur, obscuring the view of the men with the guns. Arthur’s mind is filled with nothing but golden light, and Merlin’s loyalty. He still keeps a tight grip on the minds of the gunmen.

“Don’t, Arthur. This is what they want. The more you kill, the stronger you get, and doing this would be playing right into their hands.” Merlin says, blue eyes very serious, “Remember Aggravaine.” 

They’d nearly come to war with Caerleon, Aggravaine’s exact goal.

“What do we do, Merlin?” Arthur asks darkly, “They’ll just keep coming after us, keep hurting people. How can it be wrong to kill them?”

“That’s not what I’m arguing. I’m saying that killing them is only going to cause more deaths in the future. I have a plan, remember?”

“If I remember right, your plans never worked out that well in the past.”

“They worked out better than yours.” Merlin says with an amused tilt of his head, “Just trust me to handle it.”

Arthur nods, darkness still swirling around in his chest and mind. It would be so easy to just give into it, it would be waiting for him with open arms. Merlin squints at him, as though he knows exactly what Arthur is thinking. Perhaps he does. They know each other well enough for it. Merlin asked for trust, and there is truly no one Arthur trusts more.

Something about his face must change, because Merlin grins brightly enough to put the sun to shame, and he turns to face Anne and the frozen gun men. He takes in a deep breath, and something prickles across Arthur’s skin. He recognizes it now as the magic jumping to Merlin’s bidding. How many times did he feel that back in Camelot without realizing?

Merlin breathes out something in that strange language of sorcerers that Arthur can’t understand, even now when he’s imbued with demonic ability. Merlin flings his hands outwards towards the waiting group, and they all crumple to the grass. Arthur’s heart drops.

“I never wanted you to kill for me again.”

Merlin glances over his shoulder with a cocky smile, “I didn’t. They’re all asleep.”

“What good does that do us?”

“There’s still no pleasing you.” Merlin remarks, then nods towards the abandoned cars, “Come on.”

Arthur once more finds himself in the passenger seat of a car while Merlin drives. A few muttered words from Merlin, and the car roars to life without the key. They peel out of the service road, leaving the pile of unconscious people, and Arthur’s crumpled Jeep behind them. Merlin pulls back ono the motorway, heading south.

Arthur turns to look out the back window, but it doesn’t seem like anyone is on their tale this time. He breathes out a long sigh, and some of the darkness is once more chased away. He drags a shaking hand over his face, and Merlin moves one hand from the wheel, just briefly, to pat Arthur’s knee bracingly.

“You did good back there.”

“Thanks, coach.”

Merlin grins, and places his hand back on the steering wheel, “I’m serious. I know what it’s like to want to take revenge. Resisting isn’t easy.”

“Just tell me where we’re going now.”

“You’ll recognize it when we get there.”

The drive out to Sheffield took almost three hours, and the drive to their destination verges on four. Arthur doesn’t recognize where they’re going except by the sign that announces Glastonbury next exit. To his immense surprise, Merlin takes that exit. Arthur doesn’t question it, too exhausted from the almost fire fight back in Sheffield to kick up a fuss.

Merlin drives all the way through Glastonbury, to the very outskirts of town. Arthur gazes absently out the window, not really taking anything in. The setting sun sparkles on the surface of the lake, and Arthur sits bolt upright.

“Why did we come back to the Lake of Avalon?” 

Merlin turns onto an empty country lane, and keeps driving, “I have a cabin here. I bought it ages ago to keep an eye out in case you emerged from the lake.”

They leave the car abandoned in the middle of what few woods are left, and go up to the cabin on foot.

Merlin’s cabin turns out to be more of a hovel, a bit like the one Dragoon lived in. Come to think of it, both of Merlin’s homes have looked eerily liked Dragoon’s hovel. Arthur dismisses he thought as quickly as it comes, there will be plenty of time to deal with it later.

They deposit their bags on the rickety wooden table inside, and Arthur goes into the bathroom to wash his face. The darkness flickers at the edges of his consciousness, and it’s getting harder to remember why he’s fought it off so long. He was king in another life, he should be king again in this one. It’s what he deserves.

Merlin pokes his head into the bathroom, and Arthur nearly jumps out of his skin. He turns to glare at Merlin, clutching his chest. “You still haven’t learned to knock?”

“You used to literally walk out from behind your dressing screen in the nude every time I drew you a bath.” Merlin points out, “I just came to let you know that tea is ready, and that I found some biscuits. They might be a bit stale, but considering we haven’t actually eaten today, they’re better than nothing.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Merlin nods, and vanishes back into the kitchen. Arthur leans against the sink, takes deep meditative breaths. He reminds himself over and over that Merlin is there and won’t let anything bad happen, that Arthur doesn’t want to bring about the end of the world. When he feels slightly more in control, he exits the bathroom and joins Merlin at the wooden table in the kitchen.

Merlin whispers a word as Arthur sits, and Arthur’s tea instantly heats. The steam floats off the top in little wisps, and Arthur cradles the cup in his hands, letting the warmth seep into his fingers. They aren’t even cold, but he needs something to ground him. Merlin doesn’t even look up from the books he has his nose buried in.

“What are you looking for?” Arthur asks softly.

Merlin frowns, and snatches another book, and starts frantically leafing through the pages, “Morgana used a spell to remove my magic right before Camlann. I’m hoping I can modify it to remove your power as well.”

“Will it work?”

Merlin finally looks up from the books then, and his face doesn’t look promising, “I don’t know.”

“Right.” Arthur says with cheerfulness he doesn’t feel, and drags a book over to him, “Better start reading then.”

It gets fully dark outside as they read, and rather than turn on a light, Merlin just conjures one to float above their heads as they work. At some point, Merlin moves to the sofa, and when Arthur next look up, Merlin is sounds asleep, cheek squished against the pages. Arthur sighs, and drapes his own jacket across Merlin’s sleeping form. His chest is so full of affection, he thinks he might burst.

Arthur continues reading until the early hours of the morning, but he’s exhausted every resource that he has. The two other books he hasn’t looked through are written in whatever language sorcerers use, and it’s utterly incomprehensible. He has a headache building, and he looks over at Merlin, still sound asleep.

Arthur realizes, with perfect clarity, that he’s not going to find his answers here. If he wants to get of this thing trying to trickle into his life, then he needs to go back where it all started. He needs to go back to Damascus. He closes the book with a snap, and snags his bag from the table. 

He makes it all the way to the door before a voice calls, “Where are you going?”

Arthur turns, and finds Merlin sitting up on the sofa, hair in disarray. His cheek has a red line pressed into from where he fell asleep reading. Arthur feels that overwhelming affection again, and he crosses the room to crouch in front of Merlin.

“Back to Damascus.”

Merlin blinks at him, then scowls, “That is a spectacularly stupid plan, even for you. Going back there could be like brining a match to a powder keg.”

“At least we’ll have answers then.”

“Fine, then I’m coming with you.” Merlin says stubbornly, already reaching for his bag.

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“What part of ‘I’m immortal’ do you not understand?” Merlin asks sharply, “You’re my best friend Arthur, and I just got you back, and no offense, I am going to be really pissed off if you have to lock me up until the end of time because I refuse to serve the antichrist. So I’m coming. Don’t make me enchant you. I did it once, I’ll do it again.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

Arthur sighs, but decides it’s not worth arguing. He leans up, and presses a quick kiss to Merlin’s mouth, hen sands up properly. Merlin takes the offered hand, and stands as well. Silently, they change clothes, and pack the books away. They step out of the cabin into the last darkness before dawn.

“We’ll take the car to the airport.” Arthur says softly as he and Merlin creep across the grass.

“Is now a good time to mention that I don’t have a passport?”

Arthur pauses and gives Merlin an incredulous look, “Are you serious?”

“Do you know how many borders have crossed me in my lifetime?”

“How long are you going to keep milking the immortality excuse?”

“When it stops being true.”

Arthur shakes his head, and leads the way into the trees where they concealed the car. He wishes they parked it closer, but at the time they didn’t think they’d be running again so soon. 

He’s not sure when he notices it, but he and Merlin both register what they’re hearing at the same moment. Cars. Lots of them. More than a deserted lakeside neighborhood should have. Moments later, headlights illuminate the forest around them and Arthur recognizes cars of the same make as the one they stole yesterday.

He drags Merlin down behind the tree they’re passing. The cars pull up and park. Car doors slam. Anne’s voice rings across the space, telling them to search the area. Merlin and Arthur exchange a look in the dark, and move as one. Years of hiding from bandits in Camelot coming back to them.

They get as close as they can to the car they stole, but it’s surrounded by men with guns. No way for them to drive out of there, no quick escape. They double back, heading for the tree line. Arthur’s only thought is that the car they sole must have had some of that antitheft tracking software on it, and he feels incredibly stupid for letting Merlin steal it instead of walking the rest of the way to Sheffield and renting a car there. No use for thinking on it now.

A branch snaps, and suddenly a man steps from behind a tree, gun held level with Merlin’s chest. Before either of them can do something about him, he shouts for his compatriots, and they find themselves surrounded once more by the men they left on the service road outside of Sheffield. Another stupid mistake.

“No more mercy,” Anne shouts as she hurries over, “shoot the boy.”

The flash of the muzzle is bright in the darkness, and Merlin slumps to the ground with a pained cry. Arthur drops to his knees in the dirt, gathering Merlin close. 

“It was only my shoulder. I’m fine.” Merlin hisses.

The darkness creeps into every corner of Arthur’s being. It spreads across every nerve ending, burning hot and ferocious. They tried to hurt Merlin, again. They will know better than to cross him after he’s through with them.

The wind picks up around him, whipping the trees into a frenzy worthy of a gale. Anne smiles wickedly, sinks to her knees before her king. Arthur is going to end her.

“Don’t you dare.” Merlin hisses, and Arthur can’t be sure if he’s talking to him and Anne. It doesn’t really matter. If she wants pain and suffering, she will get it.

Merlin shoves Arthur away from him, and Arthur can feel the brush of magic against his skin that tells him Merlin cheated. Arthur gets to his feet at the same time as Merlin, and takes a threatening step towards Anne.

Anne throws her head back as if in ecstasy, “Yes! Accept it Arthur! Take your place!”

“You, shut up.” Merlin snarls.

“You can’t do anything to stop it. No man can now that He has risen.” Anne laughs.

The desperation sloughs from Merlin’s shoulders like he’s shrugging off a cloak. His face goes cold, colder than Arthur has ever seen it. His chin tilts upwards, confident and angry.

“I am the son of the Earth, the Sea, and the Sky.” Merlin’s voice is dark and dangerous, “I am Emrys, Dragon Lord, Last of my Kind. And you. Will. Not. Touch. Him.”

For the first time, Arthur sees Anne’s face fill with fear. He only get to savor it a moment, before Merlin’s hand comes to rest on his chest, his glowing bright golden and beautiful. 

“Reject it Arthur.” Merlin’s voice says in his head, “You are kind, noble, and true. You may be a huge pain in my ass, but that doesn’t make you any less _good_. All you have to do is tell the power no. Reject it, Arthur.”

There’s no one in the world Arthur trusts more than Merlin.

He rejects the darkness; banishes it. Tells it never to return to bother this plane.

His mind fills with sunshine.


End file.
